


neutral zone

by ictus



Category: Batwoman (Comic), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 10:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19293634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: Kate’s hands—always so steady, so sure—tremble against Renee’s skin. These are hands that have disarmed bombs and performed field surgeries, hands that Renee knows as intimately as her own, and they’re shaking where Renee is touching her.





	neutral zone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Panny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panny/gifts).



> Short coda to _Batwoman_ (2017), Issue #6. Follows directly from [here](https://i.imgur.com/OZI8xXs.jpg).

 

Renee is drifting.

She floats dreamlike inside of her body, her mind gone hazy and the world far away. The one constant, the one true and concrete thing that tethers her to reality, is the feeling of strong hands on her body, cradling her close.

_You’re going to be okay,_ she hears from somewhere far off. The words come in a trickle, slow as molasses.

It’s Kate. Kate’s voice.

Renee’s mind fills with images of her. Kate at a fundraiser ball, her eyes sparkling like diamonds. Kate silhouetted against the Gotham skyline, her face blotted out by a mask. Kate in her bed, the dawn light casting shadows on her body. Kate—

_Just a bit further_ , she hears, and Renee tries and tries but she can’t hold on.

 

: : :

 

Renee fades in and out for what feels like an eternity, clawing her way back to consciousness again and again, only to be dragged back under each and every time. She doesn’t know where she is and she doesn’t know how she got there, but one thing remains no matter how long she drifts: hands on her face, a featherlight touch. Hands stroking her hair back from her face, unspeakably tender. Hands holding her own in a way that seems to say, _I’m not letting you go_. _Not again._

 

: : :

 

Those hands are still there when Renee finally resurfaces. Renee’s senses sharpen into focus, one by one. She’s lying on something soft, a bed or maybe a couch. The air is filled with the hum of a broken radiator, but there are no other sounds to indicate her location. Her shoulder doesn’t hurt, but the pain is muted, not absent. Painkillers. Which would explain the haze. Through the fog of unknowns, there is one thing of which she is certain: it’s Kate. Kate’s hands on her face. Kate by her side. Kate who saved her life.

The hand on her face never leaves, and it’s so tempting to soak up that touch, to continue to lie still and enjoy this simple comfort. But there’s no way that Kate missed the change in her breathing as she regained consciousness. Renee isn’t fooling anyone.

“How long have I been out?” she murmurs, not opening her eyes.

Kate doesn’t start, doesn’t falter for a second. “About fourteen hours,” she says evenly.

Renee swallows around the dryness of her throat. “Where are we?”

“A safehouse, just off Cathedral Square.”

Renee’s eyes flicker open. “That’s outside the border of Free Gotham.”

Kate’s face blinks into focus, looking grave. “The only person who knew about this place was Bruce, and Bruce is—” A flash of pain crosses her face. She steels herself. “We’re safe here.”

“Safe?” Renee forces herself into a half-sitting position, repressing a wince as the movement sends a shock of pain through her shoulder. “You saw how quickly those Batmen closed in on us. Nowhere is safe, Kate.”

“My suit carries a cloaking device designed to shield me from the drones. We were undetected.”

“But—”

“We’re safe.”

Renee isn’t aware of Kate’s hand on her uninjured shoulder until she’s folding under the soft pressure, allowing Kate to ease her back onto the bed. Already, the exertion from the slight movement has her feeling dizzy and drained, her vision doubling and fraying at the edges.

“Here,” Kate says from what feels like a great distance. There are gentle fingers cupping the back of her head, supporting her as Kate presses a bottle of water to her lips. “You need to rest.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot,” she says dryly.

Another flash of pain crosses Kate’s face, but this time it’s weighed with something heavier, like guilt. Kate fiddles with the cap of the bottle, her eyes downcast. “How much do you remember of last night?”

Renee pauses, mid-swallow. “Most of it,” she says carefully.

“That shot,” she says finally, raising her eyes to meet Renee’s. “It was meant for me.”

“Kate—”

“He was pointing his gun right at me, and I dodged the shot.”

“This wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” she says her voice rising steadily. “If I hadn’t come to the GCPD, this wouldn’t have happened. Before that, even. If I hadn’t killed Clayface, if I hadn’t pushed him—” Renee reaches for her and she withdraws her hand just as suddenly. “Don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

Kate’s face may have changed over the years, may be etched with lines that speak volumes of the toll this war has taken on her. But that steely-eyed determination, that bone-deep sense of conviction that Renee recognises all too well, is written all over her face. 

Renee knows it’s useless to argue. So instead she says, “How much do _you_ remember of last night?”

It’s not like Kate to falter. When she reaches to set the bottle on the side table, there’s a hesitancy in her movement that makes Renee’s heart jump in her throat. She’s just withdrawing her hand when Renee reaches for her again, pressing her warm palm to her own cheek and covering her hand with her own.

“I meant it. What I said. It’s always been you, Kate.”

“Renee,” she whispers, and it comes out like a plea.

“All these years,” she says, rubbing her thumb over Kate’s knuckles, “there was no one else. No one ever came close.”

And Kate’s hands—always so steady, so sure—tremble against Renee’s skin. These are hands that have disarmed bombs and performed field surgeries, hands that Renee knows as intimately as her own, and they’re shaking where Renee is touching her. In that moment, Renee can see it all: can see the pain of the last twenty-five years, can see every failure, every casualty, every loss written on her face. Kate is completely and utterly disarmed by Renee’s words, her eyes brimming and her breath caught in her throat—

And then it’s gone.

Like a veil falling into place, Kate’s face becomes blank, expressionless. She puts herself back together in increments, her breathing levelling out and her hands withdrawing from Renee’s grasp to rest in her lap. When she finally speaks, her voice is utterly inflectionless.

“At eighteen hundred hours, a small contingent of Colony soldiers will rendezvous at GCPD headquarters. Their cloaking devices will provide them with a narrow window to get into position before the drones alert him to their presence.”

“Kate.”

“From there, they will emit an EMP that will temporarily disable the drones and scramble communications between the Batmen and their HQ.”

“Kate—”

“An agent will hit the electrical grid on the upper west side, cutting off power to south island.”

“ _Kate—_ ”

“Please,” she says, her eyes falling shut, hands trembling where they’re balled into fists in her lap. “Please don’t make me say it.” A tear falls from behind her closed eyes, following the lines of her face, and Renee is frozen in her indecision, wanting to reach out but holding back.

“This war,” she whispers. “All that we’ve lost, all we could lose. The cost is already so high and—”

Kate chokes on a breath, but Renee understands. _And I can’t bear to lose you too._

There’s something sharp in Renee’s chest, something painful. It’s the same pain that’s reflected in Kate’s eyes. She thinks of Kate shouldering the guilt of all the lives they’ve lost to this war, and she can’t bear to add to that weight. So she slowly reaches for her, places a hand over Kate’s where it’s clenched in her lap, and takes a deep breath so her voice won’t tremble.

“Tell me about the EMP device,” she says softly.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
